Crimson and Ice
by Tokio Rose
Summary: Hannibal hated his eyes becuase they weren't his. They were Mischa's. Short, slightly angsty story... just a very, very QUICK introspective look on the killer Hannibal Lecter. UPDATE this is movie based... just to let you know.


**Crimson and Ice**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own this, nor do I ever think that I will own Hannibal.

**Summary:** All right, I read a review somewhere that read "Hannibal's eyes are RED." And now, while I don't really agree with that (if you look at all the screenshots of Anthony Hopkins and Gaspard Ulliel, they both have pretty BLUE eyes), it did give me an idea that has been gnawing on my ankle… No pun intended, honestly. Yeah, so please don't flame me -hides-. This is my first Hannibal fanfiction… and I am a bit rusty on my Hannibal fiction… yeah… hmmm… this is more or less how I just sorta thought up how they got the movie cover…..

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Some said his eyes were blue. A nice, bright shade of blue that reminded you of the ocean, the ice, everything and anything that could consume you, draw you into a whirlwind of emotions that could have you forever lost in an oblivion of a mind that was complex enough to scare away some of the smartest of shrinks. They were the type of eyes that told you everything, inviting, caressing, everything that spoke of beauty and light. They were the eyes of his past, the eyes that everyone knew and loved.

They were his mother's eyes. They were Mischa's eyes.

They were so innocent, his eyes. They could convey everything that he was feeling, his thoughts, his emotions, everything with their enticing, all consuming iciness that spoke volumes of something else. Something deeper than the human consciousness could grasp. They spoke volumes of pain and agony that didn't belong in a human being. They told of his past, carrying scars on them that never would have been seen had his eyes not been so damn inviting.

Which was why he hated them, his eyes.

He hated everything about them. He hated the way that they sparkled seductively in the moonlight, turning their pale luminosity into something that was desired, something that was fawned over. He hated how they reminded him of screams of agony. He hated how they would spark ever so subtly; calling people to him like a fly to a Venus flytrap.

And above all, he hated how they reminded him of what could have been. He hated how they were in his face, and how they tainted the memories of his dear little sister. How that with each new atrocity that he would commit (no, he did not have any regrets, nor would he ever), they would grow just a bit deeper, tainting what had once been innocent baby blue eyes that used to belong to his sister.

They warped his views of his sister's soft blue pools, and that was why he hated his eyes most of all. Because Mischa deserved better than to be remember in some distorted killers appearance. Mischa's eyes deserved more than to be on Hannibal's face.

They deserved more than to be steadily tainted and warped a deeper and deeper shade of blue, giving way into violet, into a nice pretty rust color that reminded him of blood. Of the wonderful gushing crimson that had never betrayed him, that was warm and soft and sprayed over him like a warm shower. His eyes, Mischa's eyes, deserved more than to be warped beyond recognition until they were no longer the innocent blue.

Until they were a deep almost red color that told of shed blood and horrors that were not supposed to be known to a man of his age. Until they spoke of a knowledge of something and were just as inviting as the innocent blue. Until they were such a deep, all knowing cherry that they were just as inviting, if not more so because he had forced them to be. He forced them to change, to call in PREY; to call people to him like moth's to the flame, just waiting for the right time to strike.

So really, he didn't mind his eyes all that much. Not if they were no longer the innocent blue, not if they were no longer Mischa's eyes, but his own. No, he didn't hate the tainted reddish irises that held a slight tang of copper. He didn't mind at all because they were his eyes. They were Hannibal's eyes, the polluted crimson, not Mischa's.

And he wouldn't have it any other way.

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-Hides- Short, I know. All right, please review… no flames PLEASE. Constructive criticisms are greatly appreciated, but no flames.

I know that I am a horrible person… but yeah…


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